


Enjoy the Silence

by onetruealpha



Series: All the King's Horses [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternative Events to Echo House, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scott and Lydia take care of Stiles, help what have I done, otherwise canon compliant, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetruealpha/pseuds/onetruealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Lydia try to figure out what happened to Stiles at Eichen House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjoy the Silence

“I think something happened to him.” 

Lydia turns to look at Scott, who’s standing beside her locker in a way that’s become so familiar the last few weeks she practically expects to see him there each morning. “We know something happened to him,” she says slowly.

“No, I mean…” He rubs a hand over his neck, looking troubled. “I mean something _else._ ” 

And now she’s worried. More worried than seconds before. Because of course, something _else_ is exactly what Stiles needs. What any of them need, after _everything_. She closes her locker. “I’m all ears.” Her voice is more hushed now. 

He nods and rests a hand on her back, guiding her into an empty classroom. “Something happened last night at Eichen House when you were visiting with Meredith.”

Lydia waits for him to go on and when he doesn’t, she closes the classroom door and turns to face him. “What happened?” she asks. She knows Stiles wasn’t feeling well when they left, that he wasn’t at school today. And yes, that scares her. He’s still not up to full strength after being possessed and it’s been weeks and she’s starting to fear he’s just not going to recover completely. That he’s never going to be _Stiles_ again. And they need him to be Stiles so badly. 

Something good _has_ to come out of this whole mess, she thinks, trying to ignore the sense of dread that’s growing in her chest as she waits for Scott. 

“There was this guy. That orderly. Brunski? The one who came after Meredith when she fled to the school.” 

“The one that Coach tased?” She wishes she’d seen it actually. She hasn’t heard good things about Brunski from Meredith, and Stiles hasn’t said a _word_ about him. And that’s...unsettling. If the guy is as bad as Meredith makes him out to be...why would Stiles being staying silent? 

“Yeah.” He holds his breath for a minute and pushes himself away from the wall, moving to lean against the teacher’s desk. “Stiles went to the bathroom. He was sick. That guy followed him in. He was standing right behind him.” 

Lydia stares at him, pursing her lips. “I’m assuming he wasn’t just there to check on Stiles.” 

Scott looks down at the floor and opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it and remains silent. 

“You think he hurt Stiles when Stiles was in there?” 

“I think he did something,” Scott says quietly. 

Lydia thinks back to the night before, the way Stiles had remained utterly silent on the drive back to the Stilinski household. How he’d uttered a goodnight to both of them before vanishing inside his house without looking back. 

“I’ll go and see him after school,” she tells Scott. 

______

Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t hesitate to let her inside when she shows on the doorstep just a little after school has let out. “Lydia.” He smiles but it’s faint and tired as he steps aside. He’s not surprised to see her anytime she shows up these days, because she’s become a constant fixture in the house for months now. Even before the possession. And she was pretty key in helping save Stiles’ life in his opinion, so Lydia Martin is one of his new favorite people. 

“He’s upstairs,” he tells her. “Do you want something to drink before you head up?” 

She smiles softly and shakes her head. “I’m okay. Thanks, Sheriff.” She pauses. “How’s he doing today?” 

He nods and glances toward the steps. “He’s...not feeling very well. He didn’t manage to keep down the soup I made him earlier.” 

Lydia tries not to let the effect those words have on her show on her face. It seems like such a step back, and Stiles can’t afford _not_ to be eating every single meal he can get his hands on, really. It hasn’t escaped her notice how thin he’s gotten, how much weight he’s lost. And it isn’t like he had much to lose to begin with. “Maybe he just has a touch of the flu,” she suggests, even though she doubts he believes it anymore than she does. 

“Maybe,” Sheriff Stilinski echoes.

“I’m just gonna go check in on him,” she tells him, heading for the stairs and taking them two at a time. She doesn’t bother knocking on the door because she figures he might be asleep and she doesn’t want to wake him if he is. 

Stiles is laying in bed, all of the blankets pulled up to his chin. He’s paler than he was the day before. 

“Stiles?” Her voice is soft as she moves over to the bed, peering down at him. As she’d suspected, he’s sleeping, but it’s not peaceful by any means. His features are twisted in a grimace and she sits down on the edge of his bed, reaching out and gently smoothing her hand over his brow, watching as his tension fades almost instantly. It makes her relax a little, as well and she cards her fingers through his hair in a gesture that’s way more tender than she’s known for. But this is different. This is Stiles, and he needs all the gentleness and reassurance that he can get. 

She lost her best friend. Lost Aiden. 

But Stiles has lost himself. And she’s terrified that in the end, they’re going to lose him, too, and that can’t happen. It _can’t._

Lydia makes herself comfortable beside him, keeping her hand resting lightly at the back of his neck. His skin is still so cold. Not as cold as right after, but still colder than normal. Like he was still fighting for his life. Still engaged in some kind of battle with an unforeseen force. And maybe he is. She’s so tempted to pull her phone out of her purse and dial Scott’s number. 

Lately it’s like if the three of them aren’t together, there’s a piece of her missing, and there is, but it’s less noticeable when they’re all in the same room. 

But Stiles wakes a moment later, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flicker open and he starts, backing away from her before realizing who she is. Then he looks confused. “Lydia?” 

“Hey,” she greets, watching him closely. “You weren’t in school so I came to check on you.” 

He glances toward the door, and she suspects he’s looking for Scott. 

Lydia shakes her head. “He’ll be by later. He had to work,” she explains and he blinks a couple of times, and nods before letting his head drop back onto the pillow, lets his eyes drift shut again. 

“How was school?” 

“Same as always,” she tells him, reaching out and pulling the covers up over him a little more, smoothing them down over his arm. “How are you feeling?” 

Stiles breathes out, long and tired and it’s so painfully obvious just how well he’s not feeling. “I’m okay. Think I got a stomach bug or something,” he mumbles. 

Lydia shifts onto the bed so she’s laying down beside him, facing him. “Did something happen last night? You were okay before we went to see Meredith.” Her voice is quiet, not at all accusatory but the way he stiffens suggests she hit the nail on the head and she has a sinking feeling that Scott is right. Something they don’t know about happened there. 

“Nothing happened,” he tells her. And Stiles is a good liar when he needs to be, or when he thinks he needs to be. Except he doesn’t need to be. Not with her. Not with Scott. She lays her head on his pillow, their faces inches apart as she studies him. He doesn’t open his eyes and Lydia reaches up, gently resting a hand against his cheek and then closing her eyes, too. 

“I want to help,” she admits, her voice barely audible. 

“You do,” he says immediately. “You do help.” 

She sighs softly, moving her thumb lightly over his cheek. “Okay. Let’s just rest for awhile and then I’ll fix you something to eat. Or some tea if you don’t feel like eating.” 

He doesn’t protest and within moments they are both asleep. 

A couple of hours later, Scott finds the two of them curled up in Stiles’ bed and for a moment he considers just closing the door quietly and leaving. Heading home and spending some time with his mom, whom he hasn’t seen a lot of lately. He’s glad she’s so understanding about everything since he’s been spending so much time with Stiles and Lydia. But they need him, now more than ever. And he needs them, too. Probably more than they even realize. 

But he can’t bring himself to back out of Stiles’ room. He sets his bookbag down silently on the floor by his best friend’s desk and slides his shoes off, making sure they’re out of the way so no one trips over them. Then he moves to the far side of Stiles’ bed and lays down beside Stiles, closing his eyes. It isn’t long before he drifts off, as well. 

_____

Stiles awakens slowly hours later, groaning at the sunlight filtering through his window blinds and he shifts to turn over, body tired and achy as some part of his brain registers that Lydia is no longer lying beside him. Either she left in the middle of the night or she went to shower or something. He is only mildly surprised when he manages to turn onto his opposite side and finds himself looking at Scott, who is lying still and silent beside him, eyes open. 

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” he mumbles, closing his eyes again. 

“You were both asleep,” Scott tells him quietly. “I didn’t want to wake you.” 

He nods slightly, shivering a little under the covers and opening his eyes as Scott shifts closer to him, sliding an arm around his waist. He relaxes as he begins feeling warmer almost instantly. He’s sure that if they can just find a way to package, patent and sell werewolf body heat, they will all be rich in a matter of days. He thinks that with anyone else, this would be weird, but he and Scott have been sharing a bed since they were five, and they’ve just been through so much that there’s nothing weird or even uncomfortable about it. 

“Better?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, feeling sleep tug at him once more. 

He waits a few moments. “Stiles.” Scott’s voice is even quieter now, and some part of him knows that trying to get information out of Stiles while Stiles is only half-aware of what’s going on is probably violating some very basic friendship code, but he can’t _help_ his best friend if he doesn’t know for sure what happened to him. 

He murmurs a sleepy, “Hm?” 

“What happened at Eichen House?” he whispers, voice barely audible. 

His eyebrows furrow in his half sleep state and Scott feels his stomach knot at the troubled expression that appears instantly at the mention of the asylum. “Can’t,” he whispers back. 

Scott thinks of when they held Isaac down in an ice bath, how he’d been in an altered state when Deaton questioned him, but Isaac had given his consent for that beforehand. And he hates the pained look on Stiles’ face, and he reaches up, gently rubbing his shoulder. “Why not?” 

Stiles’ expression twists again, and there’s more fear there now and guilt washes over Scott like a waterfall. “He’ll know.” 

He hears Stiles’ heart start to beat more quickly and he shifts closer, pulling Stiles in closer in their embrace and rests his head against his best friend’s. “It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs. He doesn’t know that, but he wants to cut off a nightmare or panic attack before it can get started and he rubs Stiles’ back gently. 

He remembers dozens of times they did this when they were younger and Stiles woke up crying for his mom. Scott had been so desperate to help, so desperate to soothe him, that he’d curl himself around Stiles protectively even though he was the smaller of the two of them. He’d hug Stiles close, rub his back, and eventually his best friend would ease back into sleep while Scott lay awake watching over him. 

Scott draws in a breath and lets it out slowly as his gaze flickers to the doorway and he sees Lydia standing there silently, looking as worried as he feels. She remains there a moment longer before making her way over and lying down behind Stiles, sliding her arm around him, too and resting her forehead against the back of his head. 

He meets her eyes and tries to smile but doesn’t quite manage it and neither does she. 

“He wouldn’t talk about it,” she admits in a whisper. 

“With me either,” Scott murmurs, growing quiet and listening to the sound of his best friend’s heart beat, now slow and steady as if he knows he’s safe while he sleeps between the two of them. 

“What do we do, Scott?” Lydia murmurs, her fingers brushing lightly over Scott’s arm. 

He draws in a breath and shakes his head. He has no idea.


End file.
